Homemade
by The Bride of Bronn
Summary: The things we value so much and consider priceless—like love and family—cost us a lot more than we've bargained for. Regina Mills learned this the hard way.


This fanfiction is for the request on Regina/Rumpelstiltskin from _Once Upon A Time_. It turned out to be more Regina-centric than I originally intended but I hope it's still worth reading :) The timeline is set during the events that transpired in S02E17: _Welcome to Storybrooke_ with some slight changes.

* * *

**Homemade**

The things we value so much and consider priceless—like love and family—cost us a lot more than we've bargained for. Getting your heart's desire often leaves a bitter aftertaste, and some of us learned this the hard way. Each waking moment in Storybrooke has eventually made me realize that the darkest curse that I've inflicted was more or else done out of self-harm.

It's been eight weeks. And I'm still alone. At night I'd seek the comfort of a huntsman to warm my bed, but he was incapable of truly feeling something for me. I ripped out his heart after all, and still kept it in a box because I knew that once he gets it back he will choose not to stay.

Has it really been eight weeks? _Only_ eight weeks?

I passed by Mr. Gold's shop thrice this afternoon. When I turned around to cross the other street, Mary Margaret bumped into me. She kept bumping into me for eight weeks now.

This time I'm going to punch her to see what that will accomplish.

"Mayor Mills," his calm voice restrained me from raising my fist. Mary Margaret apologized one last time and hurried off. I turned my attention toward the pawnbroker's shop and saw Mr. Gold standing by the door, leaning on his cane nonchalantly as if his physical disability was not an ailment he gave the slightest importance to. I narrowed my eyes at him. Here is the Dark One absent the maniacal grin and stripped off his powers completely, and yet I still couldn't help but perceive that he's a threat to me somehow. The frustration was gnawing on my chest again. No one else remembers who they are but me, not even Rumpelstiltskin himself.

I feel utterly alone and as friendless as I could ever be.

Mr. Gold took a step but did not approach me. "Can I help you with something?"

"No." I answered, "And probably never again." The truth in those words sliced through me.

He chuckled softly, probably thinking I was being dramatic. Without saying another word, he stepped aside, holding the door open. What is this? He wants me to come in?

I tried not to show any hesitation as I walked past him and entered his shop. It was mostly filled with an impressive collection of antiques and other sorts of unique (if not incomprehensible) possessions that I knew were more than simple trinkets. These must be the payments which Rumpelstiltskin accumulated over decades, I surmised, for all the magic he had bestowed upon the desperate souls who beseeched his power. I stood there in the middle of the room and felt a sense of foreboding immediately distracting me from present company. Once I turned my gaze back at Mr. Gold, he was already behind his desk, watching me thoughtfully.

"You look a bit lost, Madame Mayor," he remarked. "I've noticed you crossed my shop several times this week. Now, I know how a woman of your upstanding position in the community would think twice about brokering something because you uphold your untainted reputation as a meaningful status, one that can be discontinued with any association to my specialties." He stopped staring at me at last so he could polish a chipped cup. I decided not to answer yet.

He went on. "Let us get past frothy sentimentalities and just skip to the part where you tell me truthfully about what you want and how you think I could help with that."

"You think that's what I came for?" I kept my hands inside the pockets of my trench coat. They were still balled into fists.

He only chuckled again. It was starting to get into my nerves. "Did I mistake your intent?"

"What could you possibly give me, Mr. Gold?" I asked that as if imposing a challenge.

The peculiar man simply smirked. The meaning behind it was once again indecipherable, just like the rest of him although he is now a mortal man and just as powerless as I am.

"That really depends on what you want," he answered. "I can see you haven't figured that out yet, however. Please do come by as soon as you had it pegged, Madame Mayor."

Unable to come up with a reply that wouldn't be construed as hostile or sarcastic, I merely glared at him for a few seconds before I turned away and left his shop.

* * *

I sent the huntsman home earlier that night. I couldn't fall asleep fast enough afterwards. What Mr. Gold said about figuring out what I want made me too anxious that I can't just ignore it.

Rumpelstiltskin is a conniving fiend prone to trickeries, a kind of man never to be trusted. And yet for years I had hang on to his every word like it was a saving grace. He taught me magic and how to work my way around its restrictions and costs, and it enabled me to seize power beyond my desires. In some ways he was also more of a parent than my mother ever was. He saw that I had every potential to create my own happy ending. Why else would he make the dark curse and have me wield it? He had ulterior motives, of course—a monster of his trade has an appetite for a great number of things. But I knew I was of value to him as well. The knowledge of that hardly offered comfort, but I was relieved that it remains true nevertheless.

I was important to him, though it doesn't matter now, since he doesn't even remember who we are.

The next day I avoided every street corner where Mary Margaret might bump into me again. I don't have enough patience to see her especially since I haven't fully disqualified the beguiling prospect of getting to punch her in the face. I also couldn't bring myself to pass by the pawnbroker's shop again. Seeing that my options for company have dwindled (or perhaps never existed), I pondered about my choice to live in this world bereft of magic. I should've thought twice when Rumpelstiltskin said that it would also be a world where there are no happy endings. I thought it wouldn't apply to me since I was the one who casted the curse.

But of course vengeance cuts both ways. Mother was right. I always learn things too late.

I found myself inside Granny's even though I didn't have that much of an appetite. When I stepped inside, I saw someone sitting on the chair I usually sit on. It was a little boy and I don't think I've ever seen him before. I felt anxiety rising within my gut, igniting my senses of all a sudden. I strode toward him. I should ask him who he is and how he came here but something held me back. It didn't seem appropriate and might seem pushy. It can also call attention that I can't handle right now. So I simply told the boy. "Excuse me, but that's where I sit."

He gave me a dirty look. I would've said something to reprimand his bad attitude but then his father swooped in to neutralize the situation. It turns out they were visiting Storybrooke which is odd, because outsiders should not know about this town. I was beginning to feel cornered. This shouldn't be happening. This father and son—they're an anomaly. They don't belong in my world. From then on, I knew that they're a pesky detail I need to deal with as soon as possible.

I don't know how to begin, however. I have no magic to conjure, and I have never done anything that doesn't require it. So how do I fix my problems at hand?

As futile as it may be, I could only go to Mr. Gold. I'm not even sure why, but there was no one else to turn to. I'm in a strange land filled with people who do not who they are and who do not know who I was or the things I've done. The anonymity has started to suffocate me; at least back in our world I was queen. The evil queen and tainted by infamy, yes. I had power and reputation then. But now such things matter no more than chasing the shadows of what have been lost forever.

Mr. Gold didn't look startled to see me back inside his shop at all. He might have been expecting me to return soon. I wasted no time and told him about the boy and his father. I knew that expressing any fears and concerns to him would make me open for any sort of attack or criticism so I was prepared to face them. I don't hold any cards but I also knew neither does Mr. Gold.

"I don't really understand why this bothers you," he replied.

"I just don't like surprises."

"It seems to me, Madame Mayor, that this might be a blessing."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "How so?"

"Visitors can be your break from all the monotony." Mr. Gold smiled now. "And you're growing restless lately. Perhaps a change of scenery or, in this case, a change of company would be of great help to overcome..." he paused, searching for the word. I watched his expression carefully as our gazes locked. I wonder if he'll say _loneliness _but then he finished with "boredom."

It was less accurate but perfectly acceptable so I nodded slightly to acknowledge it.

"Fine," I remarked. "I could entertain them for a while. It'd be easier to gauge them better."

Mr. Gold offered no reply so I took that as my cue and left the shop.

* * *

Over the course of three weeks I found myself in the enjoyable company of father and son. The boy, Owen, presented difficulty at first but even his most annoying habits became somewhat of an endearment to me. I was never bored in his presence, that much is certain. And I think he's beginning to like me too, and embrace the moments here in Storybrooke with me. We've bonded in such a short span of time that he and I decided to plan an apple tree together. I told him that I used to have one when I was younger, and he suggested that I should have one again if it made me happy before. He was right. I spent so much time in the last eight weeks basking in the satisfaction that Snow White and Prince Charming will never find each other in this world I've put them into that I neglected my own happiness. It wasn't supposed to be defined by their misery. Owen helped me see that it didn't have to be that way at all. So I followed this wonderful boy's advice and started living again.

Together we dug into the soil in my backyard to plant the seeds within. We'd watch every day for any sign of life to spring forth from the earth. When it finally had, Owen was ecstatic. I never thought that the tree meant so much to him as well. One time as we're on our haunches, examining the way the stems have began to flourish as they welcomed the sunlight, Owen looked across me and said. "This way you'll never have to buy apples in the market to make your pies."

He loved my apple pies.

Owen told me then that he never remembered much about his mother and that it's always been just him and his dad since she died. He never had anyone to make meals for him.

"When we went camping in the woods and woke up the next day to find Storybrooke, we can't believe our eyes," he explained. "This town was not here when we first made camp."

I didn't say anything because I'm not sure how to make him understand anything about this place. He continued. "But you know what, Regina? I think maybe we were meant to find Storybrooke."

"And why is that?"

He shrugged his shoulders and looked across the little plant before us. His face lightened up as if he was imagining the bounty we will reap once our plant becomes a full-grown tree. And then he answered. "Maybe because I'm supposed to find you."

Something warm begins to constrict my chest and I haven't felt this way in a long time. It made everything else unimportant. Owen reached out his hand to help me stand up. I squeezed it tight, loving the way my fingers managed to fit inside his small hand. Afterwards we went back to the house so I could make him another apple pie.

"We should sell many of these across town, you know," he suggested. "When that three starts bearing fruit, you should bake many, many apple pies and sell them to everyone."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because they're so good, Regina!" he beamed. "Everyone deserves to at least try them. You're the mayor. You can ask Granny's to put this in their menu as a special."

I chuckled. "It's possible. But that plant is going to take months to grow." I paused. "And I'm not sure you'll still be around by then." I had my back turned from him so he couldn't see how much that saddened me. Still, Owen must have felt how I felt too.

"I could always visit," he offered. "I'll come here again, don't worry."

I faced him and smiled even with the knowledge that it's possible that once he leaves, he might never find this town again. That is just one of the many consequences of the dark curse.

I stood there, watching Owen for a while as he sliced his apple pie with the fork and placed a piece in his mouth. He took his time chewing it, and I relished how perfect everything was with him—and how it's all about to end. But I didn't care because this wonderful boy loved my apple pie and he grinned wide at me right now said. "This must be what home taste like."

* * *

Three weeks was enough for Owen's father. He couldn't wait to get out of town soon. I did everything to delay their departure but ended up hurting Owen in a way that I don't think will ever heal. I realized I was never going to be able to stop what was inevitable. I wish I had magic then to rip out his father's heart and make him heed my command. But this is exactly why I didn't deserve Owen...and why he ran away from me at that moment when we were in the crossroads between Storybrooke and his world. I was ready to provide him a home but it would have been more like a prison for him. It was then that the curtain was pulled back to reveal before his eyes who I was all this time. He saw the dark things I'm capable of and it cut him deep.

Someday he would come back to claim his father, but by then I knew that whatever he felt for me before would not stay the same. He would hate me and that will erode his heart in no time. I casted that terrible curse on him when I separated him from his father, and it's all because I have to preserve Storybrooke. If I can't have another shot at happiness then I will hold onto what was left even if it's the last thing I want.

But perhaps it didn't have to be that way.

I walked into the town's cemetery to visit my father's grave. I sat there by the concrete floor and wept. His tombstone only had his name on it: HENRY. Below it says he was a beloved father. The truth was he was last person to love me—and I ripped out his heart in exchange for the dark curse.

Somehow I found the strength to enter the pawnbroker's shop again. Mr. Gold was waiting for me as we both knew he would be. He stood there across me and for the first time looked like he was having a hard time carrying his weight even as he leaned on his cane.

We didn't say anything for a few seconds. And then softly, as if the words were meant to hush me, he asked. "What do you want, Regina?"

I knew but I was too afraid and proud to say it.

"A woman of your...prominence..." he began, "wants everything."

"I _had_ everything." I answered and risked a step toward him. "But all I wanted—all that I ever did before any of this..." I tried not to choke the tears, "...was someone to love again."

Mr. Gold pursed his lips and looked as if he was contemplating something. I just stood there because there was nothing else to say but I didn't have the courage to walk away either.

Finally, he gave me a smile and replied. "And you will again."

* * *

Four days after that confrontation, I found Mr. Gold at my doorstep one night.

He had a baby in his arms, wrapped in a blanket with an embroided apple stitched on the hem. Without even thinking about it, I reached out and Mr. Gold allowed me to take the baby from him.

"You have to come by tomorrow to sign some documents to make it official," he explained. "But rest assured, Madame Mayor, he's all yours."

Words did not come to me, not even to express my gratitude. I knew this baby belonged to me the moment I nestled him in my arms, and that nothing in this world and the next will ever take him away from me.

"And what would you call this lovely bundle of joy?" Mr. Gold asked.

I breathed out a name I knew magically made sense to call him with.

"Henry."


End file.
